


no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

by tooruluvr



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Blood and Violence, Crime Fighting, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hero/Villain, M/M, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Minor Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Moral Ambiguity, crime fighting and yearning actually, feral kenma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27103360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooruluvr/pseuds/tooruluvr
Summary: As Shouyou listens, his heart starts to race. It’s like a dance, he thinks. One partner leads. The other follows, blindfolded. Tokyo wrapped around the finger of a mysterious man, fanged. Shouyou wonders why, as everyone struggles to break free, he falls into the rhythm instead.Hinata Shouyou's fiercest enemy might just be the workings of his own heart.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kozume Kenma
Comments: 27
Kudos: 128





	no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kodzhina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kodzhina/gifts).



> hi! when i first planned this fic i'd estimated about 2k words. i now know to never trust myself. happy birthday!

THURSDAY, October 1, 2020

**NEKOMA STRIKES AGAIN; CLAWS SHARPER THAN EVER**

_The Tokyo-based crime group claims responsibility for large-scale cyberattack on major banks in the country._

Nagasawa Aoki | STAFF WRITER

In what has been swiftly dubbed as Japan’s most dangerous cyberattack in years, several of Tokyo’s largest banks were forced to shut down services last night after computer systems were knocked offline by an unidentified computer virus. Nekoma, a notorious crime group that has terrorized Tokyo’s largest companies since its first appearance in 2015, quickly took credit for the attack in a taunting message posted anonymously on Twitter. Japanese authorities have confirmed the claim to be true and have reassured the public to remain calm as the systems are restored.

Fujikawa Masato, a renowned cybersecurity expert, further speculates about the technicalities of the attack. _“This must have been something they studied for months,”_ Fujikawa said in an interview this morning. _“I have not a doubt in my mind that this was designed and coordinated by K. It’s completely in line with their MO. Only they could have pulled off such a complicated job.”_

Widely believed to be the ‘brains’ behind Nekoma’s activities, the elusive hacker known as K has been a fundamental part of the group’s operations since their foundation, having led their very first attack on several government websites in May 2015. These cyberattacks have often proved to be in retaliation to [...] ➧ **STORY CONTINUES ON 2A**

  
  


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“I feel a little bad saying this, but I’m actually kind of impressed.”

Shouyou looks up, gaze falling on Akaashi by the coffee maker. He carries himself just the way you would expect a high-ranking hero to — with an air of coolness about him even when things seem out of his control. His posture is just the slightest bit intimidating, his expression just a tad pensive; enough to give you the impression that he shoulders considerable responsibility, but not so much so that he seems unapproachable. Akaashi is a wonder like that.

Still. There is something about him that Shouyou never fails to notice. The slump of his shoulders when he thinks no one is looking, the shadows under his eyes. A certain weariness that clings to him, ever-present. When Akaashi attempts a smile, it’s weak at best.

It worries Shouyou sometimes, how hard he works. He takes care of most of the paperwork. He patrols parts of the city every Thursday. He helps the apprentices with their training. He never seems to have time for anything.

_“It’s all part of the hero work,”_ Akaashi had told him, when Shouyou had asked once. _“I know what I signed up for when I came here.”_ He’d smiled at Shouyou then, though in his eyes there seemed to be something unreadable. _“Do you?”_

Shouyou looks down at the newspaper in his hands, fingers now smudged with ink. 

_Do you?_

At the time, he had been naive and starry-eyed, had answered with an eager, _Yeah!_

It hadn’t taken long for his conviction to waver.

“Of course,” Akaashi continues, fingers curling over the warmth of his coffee mug, “It doesn’t change the fact that this is yet another thing we’ll have to take care of. When it comes to money, nothing’s a joke.” His tone is calm, yet grave. Shouyou nods.

“It’s inconvenient,” Akaashi says with a sigh, “that we don’t even know what any of the group members look like. We could pass their boss in Shibuya Crossing and we’d be none the wiser.”

Shouyou considers this, eyes shifting back to the article. There’s a picture to go with it, but it’s meaningless, simply a photograph of the banks affected by the attack. Nekoma is a mystery to everyone, even the press, even the heroes.

Shouyou zeroes in on one very specific line: _I have not a doubt in my mind that this was designed and coordinated by K._

His eyes linger over the letter for longer than they should. _K._

His heart clenches; it yearns and immediately feels treacherous for that.

“Can I see that?” Akaashi asks, hand outstretched on the other side of the room. Shouyou nods and watches — with a wonder that had never faded since he’d first met the man — how the paper lifts lightly from between his very fingers and floats across the room to settle in Akaashi’s hand. He summons his glasses from the coffee table next and slips them up his nose. Even after a year of watching him do this, Shouyou can never dampen his excitement at experiencing it firsthand. 

“Hmm...well, if attention’s their goal, they sure got it,” he says, brows knitted in thought. Shouyou is far from an expert on cyberattack groups, but he isn’t sure that attention is what K had been after. He doesn’t correct him.

“What should we do, Akaashi-san?” Shouyou says, standing up. “Maybe—the police! They might need our help—”

Akaashi scowls and it looks a little odd on his face. “Leave the police. We have to take this into our own hands.” He puts the newspaper away. “I’m going to IT to ask them to give me all the information we’ve collected on Nekoma so far. We’ll probably have a meeting about this, we should be prepared. Want to come with?”

Shouyou looks at Akaashi, then back at the paper he’d discarded on the counter. The photograph of those stupid banks stares back at him.

“Yeah.”

  
  


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The meeting they have is particularly brief, but like all things involving Nekoma, the team quickly realises they don’t have much to go on. No photos, no credible suspect, not even a traceable digital footprint. Their main topic of discussion — or argument, depending on how irritable Kageyama and Tsukishima are feeling on a given day — usually centers on the leader, Kuro. But seeing as they have a more pressing problem to deal with, K is all anyone wants to talk about.

“What if Kuro and K are the same person?” Kageyama speculates, chin in hand. 

Tsukishima scoffs. “Just because both their aliases start with a ‘K’?”

“It’s something!”

“What if _you’re_ Kuro and K then?” Tsukishima says, all bitter words and a taunting curl of lips. “Your name is _Kageyama_ after all, your highness. Maybe Kuro is a nickname.”

Kageyama glares, fingers clenched, eyes darkening to a storm. The atmosphere shifts and it suddenly feels tense, suffocating, and for a brief moment Shouyou is grateful they’re not outside. Kageyama’s control over violent winds and thunderclouds grows more terrifying by the day.

But before anything can happen, Akaashi stands, and in that singular, swift movement, he regains control of the room once again.

“Enough, both of you. Kageyama, calm down. Tsukishima, don’t taunt him.” 

Tsukishima scowls. “I was just using his logic. But anyway,” he straightens. “Kuro and K can’t be the same person. It’s evident in the way they both communicate. Kuro is, for the lack of a better phrase, a piece of shit, and seems to take joy in provoking all the wrong people. K, on the other hand, they’re more…” he searches for the right word.

“...Quiet?” Kageyama says, almost like a peace offering between them. Tsukishima regards him carefully and nods.

“Yeah. Quiet. Don’t say more than they have to. When they leave messages, they’re short and to the point, but clever. Last time, we discovered too late that one of their messages actually had a clue to their next operation.”

“Why do you think they did that?” Akaashi mumbles. He’s settled back in his chair near the head of the table again, fingers clasped in front of him. “Why give us a chance to uncover one of their plots? Why take the risk?”

Tsukishima considers it. “I’m thinking, either they get a rush from the fact that their ploys might fail, or they do it because they _know_ we’ll only figure it out once it’s too late.”

“So they’re also the taunting type,” Akaashi concludes, and the claim settles between them all like a slow realisation. “Only...more subtle about it. More aggravating.”

_More dangerous,_ Shouyou’s mind adds. K might not be the leader by any means, but being the backbone of every operation and toying with their victims like so makes them just as important. Just as menacing.

As Shouyou listens, his heart starts to race. It’s like a dance, he thinks. One partner leads. The other follows, blindfolded. Tokyo wrapped around the finger of a mysterious man, fanged.

Shouyou wonders why, as everyone struggles to break free, he falls into the rhythm instead.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


If there is anything Shouyou quickly grew accustomed to since his first month of hero work, it’s the city patrols. He is by no means anything like Kageyama, who’s learned to harness and bend the winds to his will, making them carry him all over the city. He is definitely nothing like Tsukishima, who, with a single thought, can transport himself anywhere in the country.

Shouyou’s patrols cover much smaller ground. And his powers are nowhere near as dramatic or convenient, but it _is_ a power, and it is his, and he’ll willingly exploit every last bit of it.

It’s a Thursday, which means Akaashi is accompanying him. He stops every now and then to talk to the locals, relieving them of their worries with a few choice words, giving them hope with the gentlest of smiles. Akaashi is a wonder like that.

Meanwhile, Shouyou surges ahead. The sun still hangs high this afternoon, elegant and fiery, washing everything in brilliant oranges and gold. Shouyou basks in its warmth, lets it run through him, feels the tingle in his fingertips. It glows, and Shouyou glows back, and all the while he is thinking, _This, this, this._ This is how a hero is supposed to feel. Powerful, unstoppable. A force mighty enough to tremble the very ground beneath his feet. If being a hero means anything, it is this.

“Look!”

Shouyou slips out of his trance. Around him, several children have gathered, all wide eyes and open mouths.

“It’s just like on TV!” One of them is saying, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Ninja Shouyou really glows!”

Shouyou laughs and kneels to match their height. They bombard him with questions, about his hero work, his latest mission, and is it true that his hair turns to fire when he uses his powers? (It does not. Sadly.)

But for all the excitement they have, Shouyou notices that it’s not shared by their parents, who hurriedly come over to collect them. They regard him warily, and a few of them even start to ask him questions, but soon cut themselves off with an apology and leave. Shouyou wonders if this is about K. And then he realises that there must be more to it than a cyberattack, with the way the mothers cling to their children as though they might vanish any second. Something money cannot measure.

“You’re popular with the kids, Hinata.”

Shouyou turns around to see Akaashi behind him, squinting a little. Shouyou is known for glowing a tad too bright sometimes. He offers an apologetic smile. “Or I should probably say Ninja Shouyou.”

“Akaashi-san, don’t you think the locals are acting kind of strange?” Shouyou suddenly says. “Like they’re scared of something?”

The troubled frown on Akaashi’s face is answer enough. He surveys the park square, sees what Shouyou had seen. Hands clasped tightly. Parents running after children. Couples pressed against each other not out of love, but something darker, more sinister.

“Is it Nekoma?” Shouyou offers. And then, weakly, adds, “Is it K?”

“Maybe,” Akaashi mumbles. “Well, K is a hacker, but they no doubt have people to spread panic if they want it. Though they’ve done a good deal of that themself already. Their mystery identity is terrifying enough.” He looks back at Hinata with darkened eyes. “You continue patrolling, make sure everyone in the area gets home safe before sundown. I’ll ask around.”

Shouyou watches him leave. Even as Akaashi said it, he hadn’t quite believed him. Despite everything, this doesn’t feel like K. And Shouyou would know.

A calico cat pads up to him, pawing at his feet. When he looks down, it stares back at him. An accusation.

Shouyou would know.

  
  


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It’s always a bad day when Akaashi doesn’t bother adjusting his glasses when they slip down the slope of his nose.

Shouyou had seen it in their common room that morning, when Akaashi’s eyes had been glued to the day’s paper. There was nothing to be seen about Nekoma that wasn’t already in yesterday's paper, but Akaashi had still grabbed the files IT had compiled for him on his way out.

And again, amidst another meeting that feels more like a ten-way debate, Shouyou is half-worried the glasses will fall off entirely. Akaashi hasn’t fiddled with them once since stepping in.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with his highness on this one,” Tsukishima is saying. It seems almost effortless, how he holds everyone’s avid attention despite never outright asking for it. “Why are we even questioning it? Nekoma orchestrated a cyberattack a little over twenty-four hours ago. Suddenly there’s people going missing, then found dead or half-dead behind old buildings and parking basements. Nekoma is up to something — either their cyberattack was a distraction for whatever _this_ is, or it was part of something bigger.”

“I understand, Tsukishima, I’m with you on this one,” Akaashi sighs. “I just think it’s a little odd. They’ve never done something like this before.”

“Well then, they’re expanding,” Tsukishima says. “Lucky us.”

It’s hard, it’s hard to keep track of what everyone is saying. Someone suggests Nekoma has struck a deal with another crime group. Another says they’re after a specific working sector. A third chimes in by saying they should come up with a plan already. And where they disagree, there are raised voices and pointed fingers and a crackle of electricity. Shouyou watches as Akaashi and a few others struggle to regain control of the conversation.

And he can’t help but wonder if this is what they’ve been reduced to. If this is what the hero life is like, really. Thinly-veiled chaos. It’s so much more different than what they show on TV. It’s certainly nothing like what Shouyou had dreamed it would be as a child.

He can’t help but wonder if Nekoma’s already won.

“Alright, enough, _enough_ ,” Akaashi says. He looks like he’s aged five years in the past half-hour. “Listen, everyone. We don’t have much to go by. But we _can_ start looking. Everyone will go on patrol starting this afternoon. Cancel whatever work can be postponed and spread out all over Tokyo. Any sign of K, or Kuro, or Nekoma, you report to the rest of us immediately.”

But it’s not them, Shouyou wants to say. It’s certainly not K. They’ve never shown interest in physically hurting others before, certainly not unnecessarily. Not as a public scare.

Nekoma doesn’t kill. _K_ doesn’t kill.

Still, even as Shouyou watches everyone divide Tokyo amongst themselves, he says nothing.

  
  
  


Blinding neon signs, an entire subculture of fashion, and a bustling nightlife — of all the times Shouyou had dreamed about visiting Tokyo’s chic capital, he had never imagined it would be on patrol.

Harajuku is everything the people make it out to be, and more; a world all on its own. Fashion store after fashion store, some even tucked down the backstreets, each with entirely unique pieces on display. Not even the grim nature of Shouyou’s work can dampen his awe at being here.

He’s not all that fond of night patrols; his powers are designed to respond to the sun, to take from it as much as it will give him. The moon can only offer a glimpse of that. Still, Harajuku is breathtaking at night, all obscure stores and a cluster of towering buildings, and if Shouyou gets to have this chance at experiencing it all first-hand, he’ll take it.

“It worries me,” Akaashi is saying next to him. Unlike Shouyou, he walks slow, more careful. “It’s so crowded here. If Nekoma have any plans for tonight, it’ll be difficult to notice before it’s too late.”

Shouyou considers this. “Do you think...if it’s really Nekoma, do you think they’re at war with another crime group?”

Akaashi presses his lips into a thin line. “I don’t know if it’s as straightforward as that, Hinata. I read the reports yesterday and there’s no pattern to the victims. Sometimes it’s an entire family, sometimes it’s one man. And not all of them are killed. Some of them are just...dumped near their homes. Almost like…”

“An example.” Shouyou breathes, shaky. Akaashi nods.

“...Do you think it’s Nekoma? Or—K?”

Akaashi looks ahead, nods to a few passers-by who recognise him. A young woman catches Shouyou’s eye and waves at him. Shouyou waves back.

“What I think doesn’t matter,” Akaashi says. There’s a brooding look in his eyes Hinata isn’t used to. Moonlight reflects off his glasses and it looks almost ominous. “All I know is that once we get to the bottom of this, we’ll make them pay.”

An icy chill runs down Shouyou’s spine. Akaashi doesn’t say it outright, but with every passing minute he seems so sure of his target. Shouyou wonders why everyone is convinced this is K’s doing.

And then he wonders how he’s so sure it _isn’t._

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t register anything Akaashi is saying to him until he hears a sudden gasp. Shouyou looks up, prepared, but it’s not crime he sees, no. There’s no mistaking that silver hair or the comforting gold of those eyes.

“‘Kaashi! I’m so glad I found you!”

It’s Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi’s long-term boyfriend.

“B-Bokuto-san?” 

For all the professionalism Akaashi possesses, Shouyou can’t help but notice how it melts at the sight of Bokuto. The rigid posture, the polite clasp of hands behind his back. Decorum suddenly becomes irrelevant.

“Bokuto-san, what on earth are you doing here?” Akaashi says. “You told me you were going home.”

“I was going to,” Bokuto says, then turns to greet Shouyou and ruffle his hair. Shouyou laughs at the warmth of his touch. He is so much like the sun. “But then I remembered how you told me you had patrol here. So I thought I’d stop by!” Bokuto raises his arm, and only now does Shouyou notice the plastic bag in his hand. “I brought you onigiri because you’re always forgetting to have dinner. It’s from ‘Samu’s!”

Akaashi stares at the bag, then back at Bokuto with something different in his eyes, something benign and fond. Shouyou doesn’t get to see this look often. It vaguely reminds him of another pair of eyes, sharper and more cat-like, when they had softened once under an orange glow. Shouyou casts the memory away.

“You didn’t have to,” Akaashi breathes, finally. “Thank you.”

Bokuto grins as Akaashi, much to Shouyou’s surprise, leans in to kiss him on the cheek. “How did your match go?”

“Great! We won!”

“I’m glad to hear it. Sorry I couldn’t be there.” Akaashi does a quick sweep of the crowd with his eyes. “It’s been...really busy.”

“It’s okay, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto says, handing him the bag. “You just focus on your job and those onigiris, okay?”

Akaashi shakes his head. “I can’t eat right now. I have to work. And it’s not safe for you to stay out too late, Bokuto-san. I’m sure you’ve been keeping up with the news.”

Bokuto nods, his smile faltering. Shouyou wonders how it feels, to be an ordinary person living something so terrible. Bokuto is strong, but if a group of men decided to target him in an abandoned space, what could he possibly do without any powers?

Shouyou winces at the thought. It’s one thing to hear about victims. It’s another thing if they’re someone you know, someone dear to you.

“I’ll be careful,” Bokuto promises. “But I don’t want to leave yet.”

Shouyou looks at them, at this beautiful thing that’s blossomed between them, and quickly realises there’s no place for him here.

“Akaashi-san,” Shouyou says, “I’ll go on ahead, okay?”

Akaashi glances at him, half-distracted. He gives him a nod and Shouyou is off, leaving this beautiful thing behind him and wondering why it leaves such a bitter taste in his mouth.

  
  
  


His feet take him to Yoyogi Park.

Upon setting foot in, Shouyou understands immediately why it’s so popular with locals and tourists alike — wide expanse of freshly-cut grass, paved paths for strollers and cyclists, lakes and fountains and trees that light up in the dark of the night. A flutter of sakura petals in the breeze. A slight chill in the air, just enough to make you wish for someone to lean into for warmth. Not too far lies Meiji Shrine amidst an evergreen forest. Harajuku Station is just nearby.

Everything about this place is subtle, serene. The kind of beauty that makes you want to lie down and stare at the sky forever. And Shouyou, for all the energy he has in that small body of his, falls in love with its stillness at first sight.

Overhead, the moon glows. Shouyou looks up and borrows what little light it has, what little light the sun can offer him tucked away on the other side of the world. It’s not much, but it’s enough. The air around him shimmers.

“Ah, so you were here after all.”

Shouyou’s breath catches in his throat.

_That voice…_

Here’s the thing about love: there are no laws, no set of rules. You love who you love, and whoever that may be is not love’s problem. It’s yours.

Here’s the thing about love: it doesn’t discriminate between good and evil. It simply tugs your heart where it so desires to be, and then leaves you to fend for yourself. Love could not care less about the consequences.

Here’s the thing about love: it leaves you helpless, breathless, clinging to anything you can get, no matter how fleeting. It’s bold and shameful, beautiful and ghastly, benevolent and unforgiving...

and,

and,

_and._

Here’s the thing about Shouyou’s love —

it scares him half to death.

“I was beginning to think,” says the voice again, and the mere sound of it slices harsh and addicting at Shouyou’s chest, “that my intel was wrong.”

Shouyou takes a breath; once, twice. He turns, slowly. The world seems to turn with him.

He looks beautiful underneath the moonlight.

Tokyo knows him by other names. _Hacker. Nekoma’s brains. K._

“ _Kenma_ ,” Shouyou whispers instead, like a sinner. Like a man in love.

He sits beneath a sakura tree with his legs tucked in, shadows cloaking his figure just so, hiding him in plain sight. A soft, pink petal shudders in the breeze and settles in his hair.

“I missed you,” Kenma says.

_Me too,_ Shouyou wants to reply. Instead he says, “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t I tell you, just now? You’re the one I wanted to see.” Kenma pats the empty spot next to him. “I know it’s not the kind of place we usually meet, but come. Sit.” He adds this next part much softer. “Please.”

And Shouyou — Shouyou is only a man with a heart out of his control.

So he sits.

It’s odd, being so close where anyone can see them. Of course, it helps that no one knows what ‘K’ looks like, but still. Still.

As if sensing his thoughts, Kenma says, “Don’t worry. My identity is still very much one of this city’s biggest mysteries.” The ease with which he says it almost makes Shouyou laugh.

“But I know it,” he says. “Have known it for a long time, now.”

“And you never said a word.” Kenma smiles. Shouyou’s soft glow illuminates his face just so; like artwork on display, something forbidden to the touch.

“Kenma,” Shouyou says slowly. “You hacked those banks, right?”

Kenma looks at him. He hardly hesitates. “I did.”

“And…” Shouyou pauses, unsure if he wants to ask this, but goes ahead anyway. “And the people who keep going missing? Getting killed?”

Kenma frowns. “That’s a little disappointing, Shouyou. You know I’m a hacker, not a killer.”

“But Nekoma—”

“The rest of Nekoma aren’t killers, either.”

Tense silence stretches between them, but Shouyou doesn’t regret asking. “I had to know for sure.”

Kenma regards him carefully, then smiles, just a tad wicked. “Loving a nationally-wanted hacker is already too much for you. Can’t stomach loving a killer?”

Shouyou shakes his head. He wonders if it’s the thought of killers that terrifies him, or the possibility that he might _still_ be in love with Kenma, even if he turned out to be something so horrible.

But Shouyou doesn’t have to think about that, because Kenma isn’t a killer. Tokyo doesn’t know that, but Shouyou does.

“Sorry,” Kenma sighs after a long pause. “I know it’s not exactly easy for you.”

Shouyou laughs. It sounds uncharacteristically harsh, foreign to his ears. Kenma stares at him. But he’s right.

How easy it would’ve been, had Kenma not been a criminal. Had he not been K. How Shouyou could have had him as just another person, like Akaashi has Bokuto. But Shouyou knows it doesn’t work like that. He knows you don’t get to choose. And when you love someone — deeply, irrevocably — Shouyou knows you love them for all that they are. Even their darkest parts.

“No,” Shouyou finally says. “It’s not easy. And Kenma...you make it even harder sometimes, you know?”

“Harder?”

“Like now,” Shouyou continues, turning to face him, gaze shifting delicately over every detail, as if he doesn’t have every part of him burned into his memory already. “You know I’m on duty, right?”

Kenma has never shown up while Shouyou was on duty before. All the times they had met, it had been in places just as dark, in corners just as secret — but it had never been on patrol, when Shouyou is _especially_ obligated to apprehend anyone he believes is suspicious.

Kenma tilts his head. This, just like everything he does, is a subtle, elegant move. 

“So?”

“So I’m...I’m legally obligated to turn you in.”

Kenma laughs, then. Even in a situation like this, Shouyou finds it a gorgeous sound, like the tinkling of bells, or a wind chime.

“If that’s the case, then,” he says, still smiling. “Why don’t you?” He stands up, and Shouyou mirrors his movement as though pulled by an invisible force. The petal in Kenma’s hair tumbles to the ground. Shouyou feels his heart tumble with it.

“Here I am,” Kenma says. He holds his arms out, wrists slightly bent. “No one knows I’m here. No one from Nekoma is here. I’m all alone.” His gaze pierces through Shouyou like a knife. “Completely vulnerable.” He whispers this last part, a delicate little thing that floats between them and settles heavy over Shouyou’s chest.

“So take me,” Kenma is saying. “I won’t resist.”

Shouyou stares at him, and if he were able to, he would tear his eyes away from that awful, beautiful gaze. But he can’t. He can’t.

“Well?” Kenma questions, brow raised. “Aren’t you on duty, Shouyou? Won’t you lock away the bad guy?”

“You’re so cruel,” Shouyou whispers; a breaking, breaking sound.

“...That’s how this city moulded me to be.”

Shouyou looks at Kenma’s hands. They tremble slightly, and not from the chill, he knows it.

“It’s the only way I know how to be, and you’ve accepted me for it.” Kenma murmurs. Something strange coats his words. Something like...an apology.

_Sorry I’m not the way you would have liked to have me._

Shouyou stares at him, at his outstretched hands. Thinks about how much he’d like to hold them instead. Wonders if love is not like how they show it in the movies, if all it brings is a constant ache in your chest, always having to let go of the one thing you want most because the world would not let you have it.

“...I’m not going to take you,” he says, finally, barely audible to his own ears. “As if I could do something like that.”

Kenma’s hands drop by his sides. “It hurts on my end, too.”

“Does it?” Shouyou bites back, harsh — then retreats, horrified at his own tone. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Kenma regards him intently for a long, long time. Shouyou realises with a start that he’d like to keep that gaze on him forever, and it makes him question everything. His responsibility as one of Tokyo’s protectors. His stance on good and bad, right and wrong. Where exactly he draws the line when it comes to this love, if there is a line at all.

“Look,” Shouyou says, shaky. “I don’t know...anything. I feel lost, and everytime I think I have it figured out, I end up right back where I started. And then you show up, every now and then, and it feels like maybe things are okay, but they’re not. They’re _not_.” He takes a breath and it doesn’t feel like his own.

Kenma moves forward, slow — one step, two — until he stands right in front of him, a breath away. Shouyou feels his heart cease in his chest.

“I know, Shouyou,” Kenma whispers. “I know.” He doesn’t apologise, and neither does Shouyou, because they’ll be damned before they regret the paths of their hearts.

Gently, Kenma reaches up, brushes a thumb over Shouyou’s cheek. It burns where he touches him, but Shouyou never wants him to let go. God, he never wants him to let go.

“I can’t promise it’ll get easier,” Kenma tells him. “And I can’t promise something terrible won’t happen if someone catches wind of this. But if you want to leave...if it’s too much for you—”

Shouyou shakes his head. “No.”

“I just thought—”

“No.”

Kenma blinks, then softens, something different in his eyes. Something benign and fond.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he promises. “Together.”

And Shouyou shouldn’t, really. He knows this. He shouldn’t indulge in something so destructive.

But there’s Kenma, leaning in, and Shouyou is but a man in love, but a man with a heart out of his control.

So Shouyou lets him. Lets Kenma’s lips fall over his own, so fleeting and blissful, this gentle sin of theirs.

_We’ll be okay,_ Kenma says, and the promise is in all of him, his lips and hands and the peaceful look in his eyes when he pulls back. _We’ll be okay._

Somewhere behind him, a voice calls Shouyou’s name. Kenma retracts his hand and takes a step back into the shadows, away from Shouyou’s warm glow.

“I’ll see you soon, Shouyou,” he says, then turns to take his leave before Shouyou can get a word in between. The night breeze picks up the sakura petal from the ground and carries it far, far away.

Gone, like he’d never been there in the first place.

Shouyou turns around and sees Akaashi making his way towards him, both Bokuto and the bag of onigiris nowhere in sight, and something about it all is like a sharp slap to the face.

  
  
  


It starts a little after that, deep into the night.

Shouyou hears it clear as a whistle — a muffled scream, a distant _BANG_. He whips his head around to stare at Akaashi, who is already looking around, trying to determine the source of the noise.

“It came from there!” he says, pointing away from the crowd, somewhere closer to Meiji Shrine. They don’t have time to lose; if this is related to the previous incidents, which Shouyou is certain about, they might end up with a dead body on their hands if they aren’t fast enough.

He has only the pale moon to rely on for power, but it’s alright. He draws as much from it as he can and runs, runs, runs, the Sun Hero glowing softly in the dark of the night. Akaashi follows closely behind him, quiet as always, nimble on his feet.

The crowd thins around them, more than a few people throwing curious glances as they pass by. Shouyou knows he’s not supposed to panic the public, but he’s also not supposed to have illicit affairs with villains. So maybe he’s not great at this hero thing.

There, a little deep into the cluster of evergreens — Shouyou can make out movement, the occasional glint of steel. Someone being shoved, a weapon being brandished. He bursts in the middle of the scene with his heart in his throat and sets into motion several things at once.

A man, bound and gagged, stares wildly at the intrusion with something Shouyou recognises instantly, something he had seen a lot of over the years: desperation, and a sudden flicker of hope. A group of men in all black, masked and armed, turn their attention away from their target, and that split second for Akaashi and Shouyou is enough.

Akaashi thrusts his arms out, a refined move, and sends three of the men flying back and landing roughly in the undergrowth. Shouyou darts towards the remaining two, eyes glinting like ambers in the dark, and connects a fist with the first jaw he sees. The man stumbles back with a cry, and his partner goes for a swing, instead. Shouyou dodges with a fluid movement and grasps him by the arm, throwing him over his shoulder.

_This, this, this,_ Shouyou thinks as the men — even the ones Akaashi had thrown back — get back on their feet. The strength surging in his fingertips even at this hour of the night, the blood smeared on his knuckles. If being a hero means anything, it is this.

All at once, the men charge, guns raised. Akaashi’s gaze flickers over to the bound man, then to Shouyou, and their eyes meet in understanding. In this form, Shouyou’s body can withstand bullets — but Akaashi’s, strong as it is, cannot.

In one swift movement, Akaashi scoops the man up in his arms, and Shouyou throws himself in front of them just in time for a well-aimed bullet to hit him, instead. It stings, but it’s alright. He can take it.

Everything after that is a blur of fists and blood and bullet, after bullet, after bullet.

With every kick, every shove, Shouyou feels the blood pump in him just a little hotter. The men shoot at him until they’re out of ammo, and despite the pain where every bullet had struck, Shouyou grins. Now it’s only fists against noses, stomachs, throats. Even with the occasional bloom of pain, he manages to bring every man down, broken jaws and knees. He’s normally not so vicious when he fights, but that look — wild, desperate, senseless — in the eyes of the people he saves...he can’t stand it. It sends him to a frenzy. No one should have to look like that. _No one._

Behind him, Shouyou hears police sirens and several voices on megaphones. He looks up at the moon, this little Sun Hero, and offers a heartfelt thank-you.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


“Hinata, you’re _absolutely sure_ you didn’t see anyone suspicious? Anyone who might be connected to all of this?”

It’s almost morning, just shy of sunrise. Shouyou can feel it in his bones. The man they had saved was sent to the hospital, and the five who had terrorised him to the police station. Tsukishima made good work of finding out what the men wouldn’t reveal under interrogation — they’re part of an organized crime group, and all the people they were targeting were those who had, in some way or another, turned their backs on them. But when asked whether they had anything to do with Nekoma, the men gave no clear answer, and it turns out there are things even Tsukishima can’t find.

After cleaning himself up and having all his injuries tended to, Shouyou was brought in for questioning. Akaashi had been waiting in the room, the bags under his eyes more prominent than ever. He must have been in there for hours before.

There were no questions left unasked — who were you with? Why did you and Akaashi separate? When did you first notice something odd? Was there anyone suspicious near the scene?

_Was there anyone suspicious near the scene?_

Cat-like eyes, and a fanged smile. Shouyou should have said. Kenma had denied it, and Shouyou had believed him, Shouyou still should have said.

He didn’t.

But as soon as they were excused and had wandered out of earshot, Akaashi started with the questions immediately.

“I already answered back there, Akaashi-san,” Shouyou says, but it unnerves him that this is the specific line of questioning Akaashi’s chosen to come back to. “I didn’t see anyone.”

Akaashi pauses, but even as he walks, his eyes never leave Shouyou, analysing him. This isn’t good. Akaashi is the most perceptive person Shouyou knows, and if he begins to see through him…

“...Say, who were you talking to?”

Shouyou looks up, trying not to look as startled as the question makes him feel.

“Hm? Who?” _Feign confusion. Feign innocence._

“When I found you in Yoyogi Park,” Akaashi says. “Before we saved that man. Who was that under the tree?”

_Shit._ How much had he seen? Had he heard anything?

“It was just...just a normal person,” Shouyou quickly says. “They wanted to talk to me. A fan, I guess.”

Akaashi watches him for what feels like hours. It’s not an enviable position, being trapped under his gaze.

Eventually, he sighs. “Look, Hinata. I know you’re a good kid. You always give it your best at every training, every mission. But you...if you’ve got something to say, if you’re in some kind of trouble—”

“I’m not,” Shouyou says, a little too forceful to be sincere, but even the slightest hesitation now could be disastrous.

“...Okay,” Akaashi says. “Okay.” He stops in his tracks, fists curled loosely by his sides. “I just don’t want you to hide anything from the agency. You remember what happened with Iwaizumi-san.”

Shouyou sucks in a breath. There is no one in the nation who doesn’t.

“...Right.”

It doesn’t slip past Shouyou’s notice how, despite the disapproval in his tone, Akaashi doesn’t drop the honorific. It’s hard to harbor any sort of negative feeling towards Iwaizumi, despite the chaos he had brought down on them two years ago.

_And if I carry the same chaos with me?_ Shouyou thinks. _If my story starts to sound like his? What then?_

What then?

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


Iwaizumi Hajime was built for the legends.

When Shouyou had first met him, around a few weeks or so into his hero training, he had known this with unwavering doubt. Solid presence, terrifying strength, eyes hardened with years of heavy hero work. If people were truly born for a purpose, Iwaizumi was born to be a hero.

He was always being called for the important missions. Sometimes he’d be on the scene before getting clearance, but even then, there was a certain nobility to it — _“You don’t need approval to help people,”_ he had said.

Champion, they had called him. The public, the press, even a few fellow heroes, until the name stuck. Despite his initial reluctance, Iwaizumi had accepted it humbly and worn the title like a badge of honour.

“I wanted to be called Godzilla, actually,” he had told Shouyou once, and Shouyou laughed until he realised Iwaizumi wasn’t laughing with him. And then he laughed some more because Iwaizumi was _serious._

“Iwaizumi-san, I don’t know if you can name yourself after a monster.”

“How dare you reduce Godzilla’s complexity to a single word.”

And that was Iwaizumi. Power and wit and love, love, so much love.

Even now, Shouyou thinks it’s a little ironic that it was love that became his undoing.

There were signs, at first. Signs no one had thought much of — patrols that stretched on longer than they had to, mind always elsewhere, a certain villain that kept slipping from his grasp.

“You’ll get him next time!” Shouyou had told him, after one such incident. “The Grand King is tough to beat, but I know you’re the one who can do it!”

Shouyou had wondered, then, why Iwaizumi hadn’t met his eyes when he sighed, “...Yeah. I guess I’m the only one.”

He hadn’t known, then, that the Grand King, as he was so notoriously called, had gotten to Iwaizumi first. He hadn’t known, then, that Iwaizumi had _let_ himself get swept away. Willingly. Despite everything. Despite being Tokyo’s Champion.

It was all captured live. The Grand King was perched serenely atop a skyscraper with glass windows, wreaking havoc in the city; toppling buildings here, uprooting trees there. He had an incredible power, one Shouyou couldn’t even fathom, and the idea of being on the receiving end of it terrified him. Still does.

Tokyo had watched avidly, on the edge of their seats, as their Champion rushed to the scene and confronted the Grand King for what, unbeknownst to everyone, would be the final time. Shouyou had been there, helping people out of buildings and tight spaces, but he could hardly keep his eyes off the fight for too long. Iwaizumi seemed to know all the ways the Grand King would attack, seemed to know exactly what to say to get the reaction he wanted. The Grand King, in return, parried just as well, either with his words or the power crackling at his fingertips. The entire scene felt less like a fight, and more like a well-crafted performance.

But towards the end, Iwaizumi went off-script. He’d had the Grand King under him, pinned. All screaming suddenly ceased. Tokyo watched, breathless.

The Grand King’s voice had boomed for all to hear: “Well then, Iwa-chan.” _Iwa-chan?_ “Won’t you hand me over?”

The law enforcement helicopters were waiting. There were police cars surrounding the whole area. There was a hero waiting at every corner. There was no way he could possibly slip away, not again. It was high time for the fall of the Grand King, and everyone knew it.

But then Iwaizumi was standing. Then, he was holding his hand out, and the Grand King was taking it. Then he had said something to him and the sudden shift in the air was palpable.

“What is he doing?” Akaashi bristled, but his eyes were wide with disbelief; almost like the one thing he had feared was suddenly materialising before him.

“Maybe a truce?” Shouyou offered weakly, though his heart didn’t believe it. A truce wasn’t justice.

Around them, murmurs arose, which quickly turned to shouts and demands from all directions. Somewhere overhead — from one of the helicopters, most likely — someone fired. Someone fired at Iwaizumi. Maybe a mistake, maybe they had meant to get the Grand King — but it was Iwaizumi who was struck, square in the shoulder, and Iwaizumi who sank to the ground as blood seeped out from the wound.

It all seemed to stop, then. Silence fell over Tokyo like a blanket. Everything in Shouyou’s periphery blurred to nothing. Next to him, Akaashi gasped. Shouyou barely registered the sound.

Here’s how Shouyou remembers it: Iwaizumi, on his knees. The Grand King, standing over him, hand still in his, the other clenched. His body shook and the very sky seemed to shake with him. His eyes burned red, red, red.

Then the Grand King thrust his hand out, and in that single, trembling movement, sent every helicopter crashing into the city.

By the time Shouyou had managed to get the smoke out of his eyes, Iwaizumi and the Grand King were long gone. The city was screaming, burning, falling apart — and Iwaizumi and the Grand King were long gone.

It’s been two years. Tokyo never forgot that day, and neither did Shouyou — but not for the same reasons.

Because how do you go from Champion to fugitive? How do you go from being the city’s most trusted protector to leaving it ravaged behind you? And in the name of what? That treacherous thing that beats in your chest?

Iwaizumi was never heard of again since. Shouyou had wondered if, in some twisted way, Iwaizumi had saved them after all, because the Grand King was never heard of again, either. No more crimes, no more elaborate plans that took the entire hero taskforce to dismantle. 

_You remember what happened with Iwaizumi-san,_ Akaashi had told Shouyou.

Would it come to that? Choosing between Kenma and the rest of his life? Would he have to throw it all away, like Iwaizumi? 

Shouyou releases a sigh, his chest shuddering with it. Kenma, or the world?

He decides not to go to work the next day.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


**Unknown number**

_saw you on the news last night. you did good._

_18:03_

Shouyou stares at his phone screen. He and Kenma have never exchanged numbers, but Kenma always manages to find him, doesn’t he?

Was he on the news? Shouyou doesn’t care to check anymore. It had been a big deal to him at first, making a name for himself, until the marvel of it died down. Until Shouyou no longer recognised the person on-screen.

**Shouyou**

_You’re not stalking me, are you?_

_18:04_

**Unknown number**

_you could say i’m a fan._

_18:04_

Despite everything, Shouyou laughs to himself. A soft little sound in the dim of his room, a sound no one but Kenma can draw out. Kenma, who terrifies everyone. Everyone but Shouyou.

**Unknown number**

_listen._

_about what happened in yoyogi…_

_18:05_

**Shouyou**

_? What about it?_

_Glad I didn’t arrest you, huh_

_18:06_

He means it in good spirit, but Kenma doesn’t reply for a while and Shouyou worries what that might mean until his phone dings again.

**Unknown number**

_well, it’s a little embarrassing to admit, but_

_yes_

_18:08_

**Shouyou**

_Wait what_

_Did you_

_Did you really think I was going to turn you in??_

_18:09_

**Unknown number**

_shouyou._

_as much as i trust you, you looked terrified last night._

_i thought i really crossed the line._

_you deserved this one chance to do the right thing._

_18:09_

**Shouyou**

_Turning you in…_

_Maybe it’s the right thing in everyone else’s eyes_

_But not in mine, I don’t think_

_18:09_

**Unknown number**

_no?_

_18:09_

**Shouyou**

_No._

_Because I thought about it, and realised it wouldn’t make me happy_

_So it wasn’t the right thing_

_18:10_

**Unknown number**

_oh._

_well. thank you._

_i’ll return the favour._

_18:10_

**Shouyou**

_There aren’t favours between us_

_I did it because I wanted to_

_And I don’t want anything in return_

_18:11_

It occurs to Shouyou, then, that this is the truth. It’s not a sudden realisation, but a slow one, the kind that makes him suspect that the truth was in him all along. The kind that makes Shouyou go, _Ah. It’s as simple as that, isn’t it?_

Kenma sends him another text, but Shouyou doesn’t reply right away. He wonders, doesn’t Kenma keep this disaster of a secret in him, too? Wouldn’t this ruin him, as much as it would ruin Shouyou?

It doesn’t feel so alone, talking to him like this. It doesn’t feel like it’s just Shouyou against the world. It feels like the ghost of a hand slipped into his, the lingering touch of smooth fingers over his own calloused ones. It feels like a voice in his ear, quiet but firm, squeezing at his heart. It feels like the softest brush of lips, short-lived but so deeply burned into his memory.

He misses all of it. Wants _more_ of it. It isn’t fair, how this reality might be so far out of his reach, but Shouyou has done nothing but lament, and there’s a point where you grow tired. There’s a point where, after caring too much, you slowly stop.

Because Kenma wants Shouyou, and Shouyou _wants_ Kenma, and maybe it’ll never work out, but Shouyou’s done with all the if-onlys. Shouyou’s done with always asking the same questions.

Sometimes it’s alright to simply let things fall into place.

His phone dings again, and Shouyou eagerly picks it up. He feels like a teenager, the way his heart beats, ever insistent. And instead of chasing the feeling away, this time, he revels in it.

  
  


━━━━━━━━━━

  
  


Shouyou has a habit of coming back; Kenma is proof of that.

Perhaps that’s why he finds himself here, in the same park square where he and Akaashi had patrolled first. It’s odd, how it feels like so long ago when it hasn’t even been a week. But even though it’s the same grass beneath his feet and the same sun hanging low in the sky, everything about this place now screams restlessness.

Devoid of screaming children and meandering couples, it feels almost...lifeless. Not even the wind blows, as though terrified of disturbing the eerie stillness. There’s the occasional passer-by, but their footsteps are hurried, apprehensive. They brush past Shouyou like the mere thought of stopping is unbearable. Shouyou stares.

“What’s happening here…?” he murmurs. 

In his periphery, Shouyou sees children poking their heads out of windows, gawking at him. He attempts a smile, glowing just a little more, but the most he receives is a half-hearted wave before their parents pull them back inside.

_What?_

Shouyou approaches a house round the corner, raises a hand to knock. It sounds hollow in the emptiness.

A moment passes. Two. And on it trickles until Shouyou starts to believe that maybe no one would open for him, that maybe they are scared of him as much as they are scared of what it is that’s gotten them locked up in their homes.

But then, there’s the soft sound of a lock and the low creak of wood as the door before him opens up — a crack, just barely, until Shouyou coaxes the woman inside with a warm smile and the promise of her safety in his hands. She hardly seems eager, but it’s a start, nonetheless.

“We all saw it.” the woman starts off. She can’t be any older than thirty, but the worry etched in her features suggests otherwise. Her eyes look tired, so tired, and with a twisting feeling, they remind him of Akaashi’s when he’s piled with work.

“What happened at Yoyogi Park.” Her voice is low even now, like she can’t trust the walls of her own home. Somewhere behind her, a child peeks out of her room only to duck back inside again.

“But we got them!” Shouyou says, then remembers himself and softens his tone. “They’re in the hands of the police now.”

At that, the woman scoffs. “Do you think they were the only ones? There are incidents almost _every day_. Just last night, Miyamoto-san’s husband was almost followed home. If they’d gotten to him, who knows if he would’ve lived to see today?”

Shouyou stiffens, the muscles in his shoulders tensing. “They’ve reached here?”

The woman nods grimly. “No one leaves the house unless absolutely necessary. And when they do, they come back before sundown. And I’m a single mother, you see — but I’m lucky to have Ichirou-kun from next door to run my errands for me. Others have to leave their families and wonder if they’ll come back to see them again.”

Shouyou looks down, too ashamed to even meet her eyes.

“I’m so sorry…”

“Don’t be sorry, boy,” She says then, sharp as a knife, but in no way unkind. Shouyou shivers under her tone. “No one has a use for your sorry’s. Not even yourself.”

He pauses at that, drinks in her words, because — she’s right, isn’t she? Shouyou had decided he was done feeling sorry. What use is it? What use is the power pumping in his very veins if all he has to offer is a single, pathetic word?

Shouyou stands up, offers proper thanks. The woman offers him tea, but he refuses. He hasn’t earned anyone’s kindness just yet.

The sun sinks beneath the horizon, bringing to life the very fears the woman had confided to him. Shouyou stares at the darkening sky and sets out with fire blazing in his soul.

  
  
  


It’s a lot different, patrolling when Akaashi isn’t around — a lot more responsibility to shoulder. He thinks about him, about how he hadn’t even told him that he wasn’t going to show up to headquarters yesterday. Still, Akaashi always covers for him, and something about the thought tugs a frown on Shouyou’s face. He deserves better than all this. Better than Shouyou, at least, who can’t even recall the last time he had a completely honest conversation with him.

He shakes his head. _No one has a use for your sorry’s._

As the night drags on, Shouyou stops by every house, asking if there’s something they need, someone they’re missing. He escorts home whoever he sees, making light conversation, trying to ease their nerves. They’re always sceptical at first, but Shouyou makes good on his word and brings each one home, and that’s really all that matters in the end.

“You think they’ll leave us alone anytime soon?” One of them asks.

Shouyou bites down his uncertainty and flashes a sunny smile. “They will if I have something to say about it.”

There’s a twisted irony to all of this. Shouyou always feels like a little bit of a hypocrite, all promises of justice while letting a certain someone escape it. It’s unfair, but nothing in Shouyou’s life has been fair — from his short stature to his fairly tame abilities, he’s never had an advantage over anyone, in anything. He’s only playing by the distorted rules he’s had to live by.

It’s the first time the thought doesn’t terrify him. So he’s a little wicked with a secret he would die protecting; it just happens to be this way sometimes.

By the time Shouyou’s escorted more people than he can count, it’s well into the final hours of the night. He hadn’t seen anything suspicious, but he can’t afford to let his guard down. They’re his duty, these people. These ordinary people who can only do so much to protect themselves.

A couple of feet away, far from the cluster of houses, a subtle, hurried movement draws his attention. Shouyou generally has a hard time adjusting his eyesight to the darkness, but not even he could have missed this. His heart jumps to his throat, and before he remembers making the decision, his feet are already carrying him closer, closer. The alleyways here wind and twist like serpents; the thought of being trapped in one fills Shouyou with apprehension.

He counts one, two, three sets of footsteps — all quiet, shoes treading softly over weathered stone. There is a murmured semblance of conversation, stray words under shallow breaths. Shouyou remains as still as possible, ears catching bits and pieces.

_“—down the street—”_

_“—family of six, make no noise—”_

_“—said to leave one alive—”_

Shouyou sucks in a breath. It’s them, they’re _here._ Just like the woman said. Just like everyone is afraid to say.

He hears their movement grow louder, realises he’s the only thing standing between them and a terrible tragedy. He’s alone, in the dead of the night, and if he were to try and call for back-up, he’d waste too much time. He stops this right here, right now, or he doesn’t at all.

As a last call for hope, Shouyou looks up at the moon. _I want to do this one thing right._

The figures approach closer, and without thinking it through, Shouyou steps out of the shadows and reveals himself.

Three men, just as he’d thought. Clothed in black and masked, just as the ones in Yoyogi. The sight of them fills Shouyou with inexplicable rage. They stop abruptly, bodies stiffening. They squint at Shouyou’s glow and Shouyou has half a mind to blind them. 

“Hello,” he says instead, voice sickly sweet. “Long day at work?”

The thing about more than a few criminals is this: they can lie and manipulate their way out of pretty much anything. Unlike Akaashi, who is often found studying criminal behaviour, Shouyou can’t say he’s much of an expert; but this is something he’s acutely aware of. Instead of panicking or stumbling over words, the three men smile with practised ease.

“And who might you be?” Asks one of them, something cold and sharp lacing his tone.

Despite Shouyou’s body screaming at him, he sticks his hand out in offering. No one takes it, so he lets it drop awkwardly by his side.

“I’m Ninja Shouyou,” he says, plastering a smile so wide his cheeks hurt. “You haven’t heard of me?”

“You here often? In the middle of the night?”

“I’m on patrol,” he answers simply. “I’m sure you know that it’s pretty dangerous to be out this late. Would you like me to escort you home?”

“Oh, no need,” the men attempt to wave him off, but Shouyou remains cemented to the ground. “We’re serious, boy, we can head home ourselves.”

“I insist,” Shouyou says. He bites back a grin of triumph when he sees one of the men’s brow twitch. He’s watched this technique before, slowly wearing down your suspects until they let their mask drop completely. He’s never been great at it, but if he just takes it slow, he can catch them off guard. Save another life.

“I’ve been escorting everyone,” he continues. “I’m here a lot, and it’s part of my job. So, really, it’s no trouble.”

Tense silence trickles between them. Shouyou knows he’s just made their job a lot harder. If they refuse, it’ll look suspicious. If they go along with it, they’ll be found out. They’re trapped, and their only way out is a boy with skin too bright, and if one of them snaps and decides to add him to their kill list, it might just become the worst mistake of his life.

“Go on,” Shouyou coaxes, pressing as far as he can. “Go ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”

The man in the middle steps forward, and it takes all of Shouyou’s will not to move. He leans down, dangerously close, but Shouyou is nothing if not stubborn, so he refuses to budge.

“Surely,” the man begins, “the three of us can protect ourselves if anyone tries to attack us?”

“It’s better safe than sorry,” Shouyou counters. He sees the man’s jaw twitch, and under his breath he says, “Oh, one of us is about to be real sorry right now.”

The words register in Shouyou’s mind at the exact moment a fist makes contact with his nose.

He staggers back with a sharp cry, eyes watering and nearly missing the next swing. He slips out of his grasp but it’s all clumsy and painful and wrong, like he can’t think straight, and is that blood trickling down his lips?

There’s taunting, something like _I thought it would take more than that_ , and laughter — horrible, horrible laughter. The other two men haven’t even moved, like they don’t think he’s worth the effort.

And it comes back to him, then, his wave of anger, the rush of fury. He’d promised that woman. He’d _promised_ all these people. If he fails now, how does he face them? Face himself? He’s not ready to have innocent blood on his hands. He’ll never be ready for that.

His rage must show, in the smoulder of his eyes and the burn of his soul, because the laughing stops, suddenly. It’s the dead of the night, but Shouyou doesn’t remember a time he has glowed brighter. The entire alleyway brightens, light and wrath spilling over stone and brick. For the first time, the men’s eyes fill with something akin to fear. Shouyou seizes his chance and slams the closest one harsh against the wall.

That’s when the firing starts, and suddenly, it feels like Yoyogi again. And though alone, Shouyou feels just as powerful, laughing in the face of the gun barrels. The bullets hurt, but he has survived so much that he hardly cares.

“You guys should start coming up with something else,” he grins, genuine this time, and darts forward to deliver another blow.

He’ll give it to them; those men don’t go down easy. When one falls another gets back up, and Shouyou notices just in time to escape their knuckles against his cheek. He fights back with all the vigour the Sun Hero is known for, though he doesn’t feel like much of a hero these days. Not in a bad way; he simply thinks it’s easier to view himself as an ordinary person who does what his heart feels is right.

Shouyou throws a punch and brings a man to his knees, then finishes him off with a powerful kick. He doesn’t get back up again.

_One down._

The remaining two charge at him, and one of them grasps Shouyou’s wrist before he can dodge. It twists painfully, and just when it feels like the bone might break Shouyou feels himself burn, _truly_ burn, down to the buzzing in his very bones, and the man lets go with a cry. Shouyou looks around wildly and finds him cradling a red hand.

That’s new.

He doesn’t have the luxury to think on it much — he seizes the opportunity and lands one punch, two, before the man is out like a light, blood spurting from his nose.

_Then another._

His mistake is that he takes a second too long to look.

With a speed Shouyou might have mistaken for heroic, the last man slams into him from behind, sending him crashing to the ground. The stone is rough beneath his cheek and jaw. Shouyou briefly notes how this man is a lot burlier than his companions, all broad shoulders and well-defined muscle. He tries to throw him off but only gets pushed further in return, fingers gripping his hair harshly and drawing a grunt out of his lips.

“What’d you say you called yourself?” The man taunts over him. “‘Ninja Shouyou’? Did a toddler pick that out for you?”

Shouyou grinds his teeth and tries again to heave him off, but the man only barks a laugh and shoves his face back into the ground. In some twisted semblance of humour, Shouyou thinks, _At least if I prolong my death he won’t have time to kill anyone else._

“I think you’re full of shit,” the man says. He grabs Shouyou’s arm and twists, twists so hard, and it fucking _hurts_ so, so _terribly_ , pulls out a scream unrecognisable to his own ears, and not even the Sun can help him this time. Not even the Sun.

In the suffocating haze of it all, Shouyou wonders if it would be best to give in. _I was never great at this hero thing anyway._

But then something shifts.

Unnoticeable, at first, had Shouyou not realised that the man’s stopped taunting him, and more importantly, stopped twisting his arm. Shouyou takes a shuddering breath, wondering what could have possibly happened, and then — he hears it.

Him.

“Stand up,” the voice says. Shouyou doesn’t think about how he’s here, how he’s even found him, but instead realises, rather absently, that he will never get over what this voice does to him.

“Stand up,” Kenma repeats, somewhere behind him. His voice shakes with barely-concealed rage. “If you value your life.”

Slowly, Shouyou feels the weight lift off his back. A pained groan escapes his lips before he turns around, and his heart all but breaks free of his ribcage.

It’s Kenma — for Shouyou could never mistake a single part of him for anyone else — but the sight of him is shocking all the same: an arm around the man’s thick neck, knife pressed to his throat. Kenma grips the man with trembling fingers, like he’d rather just end his life here and now, and though Shouyou believes he has never killed, he has never doubted that he would if he grew desperate.

“Who the fuck do you think you are,” Kenma whispers, “to touch him like that?”

“Kenma—” Shouyou starts, but Kenma isn’t listening. He looks a little unhinged. The man stares down at the knife and Kenma only presses it further to the flesh, drawing a bead of blood.

“You’re extremely lucky that your death would inconvenience Shouyou,” Kenma says darkly, “or you would’ve been my very first kill.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he strikes the man in the side of his neck with the hilt of his knife, sending him crumpling to the ground. Shouyou stares, mouth parted in disbelief, but Kenma doesn’t cast the body a second glance. No, Kenma steps over him and makes a point to shove his face into the ground without as much as a glimpse.

“Kenma…” Shouyou whispers, because Kenma’s stolen every other word from his lips.

Kenma’s eyes soften at that, and he hurries over to him, kneeling in front of him to cup his face in his hands. His thumbs brush over his cheeks, over the cuts and scratches there, and though it stings where Kenma touches, Shouyou suddenly feels such indescribable warmth.

“How did you find me…?” Shouyou asks, finally.

“You’re here a lot,” Kenma says simply, still distracted by Shouyou’s injuries. “I came...well, I didn’t really _expect_ to find you here, but...fuck, I’m _so_ glad I came. Shouyou, what the fuck did they do to you?”

Shouyou grins in spite of the pain. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Kenma blinks, then breathes out a gentle laugh. “You’re unbelievable,” he shakes his head, hands falling away as he stands up. He offers Shouyou a hand and helps him to his feet. “Absolutely unbelievable.”

“You really would have killed him?” Shouyou asks all of a sudden. Kenma pauses, as though he’s already forgotten about the body behind him, and then seems to remember.

“I don’t take joy in violence, Shouyou, you know that,” he replies. “But he was hurting you and I can’t stand the thought of you hurt.”

Shouyou wants to tell him it’s okay, because he’s used to being hurt. He knows all the way a heart and body can ache, all the ways a human could cry.

But he doesn’t, because this is Kenma. And Kenma never wants to see him hurt, as much as Shouyou would never want to see Kenma hurt, either.

“I know,” Shouyou says. He looks down at his hand, still held tightly in Kenma’s, and realises that his fingers are trembling. Shouyou meets Kenma’s eyes and sees in them a horrible, horrible fear.

“Kenma?”

“I’m fine,” he says. It’s like the Kenma from thirty seconds ago had never even existed. “I’m—I’m alright. It’s you who’s injured, Shouyou, we should worry about—”

“I can’t stand the thought of you hurt,” Shouyou echoes. He places an aching hand to Kenma’s heart. “In any way.”

Kenma’s chest shudders beneath his palm, and he releases a weak, hollow sort of laugh. “It just occurred to me how close you were to dying. You’re always slipping away from me, Shouyou, but this time...it felt like you were almost gone for good.” He bites his lip, hard. “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

_You’re always slipping away from me._

“I’m sorry,” Shouyou whispers. He raises a hand to Kenma’s face. “I’m sorry for making you think that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Kenma murmurs. “I know it’s been hard. I know it almost never feels like it’s _not_.”

“It is hard,” Shouyou agrees. “All the time, always. Everything. Not just us, but everything.” Then, his tone softens just so, the way it tends to when he’s with Kenma. “But lately I’ve been thinking, I’ve had a lifetime to feel sorry for myself, right?” Kenma looks at him. Leans into his touch. “So I’d rather not. I’d rather do whatever I want to, whether right or wrong, and with you — it can never be wrong. Because it’s _you_ , Kenma, and I’ll never slip away from you again, I promise.” He grasps his hands as though seeping the promise into his bones. Kenma grasps back, fingers thin and smooth and so, so comforting.

“Someday,” he begins. “Someday I’ll take us somewhere far. Far from here, from everyone, from everything we know. And we’ll live just like we want to.”

Shouyou laughs. “Kozume Kenma, are you saying you want to elope with me?”

Kenma smiles; a secret. “Why not? As long as it’s with you, I don’t care what we do.”

At that moment, Shouyou finally realises, a slow and gentle realisation that _Ah, the night has passed._ Behind Kenma, the sun peeks out from the horizon, ascending slowly, slowly to reign in the sky. It washes him in the most beautiful colours, hues of warm pinks and lovely oranges. The sun lights him up, this dream of a person that wants, wants, _wants_ him.

“Y’know what,” Shouyou smiles. “I’ll take you up on that.”

And it’s true, that soon, they’ll have to part — but right now, Shouyou feels such wonderful bliss.

**Author's Note:**

> huge thanks to [esy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwaoiks) for beta-ing this for me! also for listening to me freak out because i had somehow roped myself into writing this monstrosity in less than 2 weeks. you're the best!


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